Seek The Light
by The Flesh of JRB
Summary: One year before the events of the game, a team of Gears stuggle to make sure that Hoffman will have his bomb. OCs. Chapter 8 added! Sorry for being gone so long. Reviews greatly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Gears of War: Seek the Light

Gears of War: Seek the Light

Chapter 1

Outland

13 years after Emergence Day

Even with the heaters, the wind was cold enough to burn his face. He didn't like wearing the facemasks some of their guys wore. He thought those guys looked like bugs. The masks came in a standard COG pack, but a lot of men left them aboard their transports. Somewhere, Howe suspected, there was one big pile of unused masks. There would be another big pile for COG tags. _They won't have ours though. There will be no extra teams, no air support, and no rescue team. Still…_

He felt bad for some of the new platoons being formed. Criminals, old men, the physically unfit, children, people who couldn't pass the basic intelligence exam, and even a few of the mentally unfit who could be conditioned to fire a gun when they saw a locust. A lot of what was left of the professional soldiers was being kept safe in reserve for special operations and the last defense of Jacinto Plateau. It was not a good strategy to win, but Command had fewer and fewer options. After so many years of a war that could not end with a peace agreement, they were being ground down.

Howe tore a chunk off the fruit bar, and chewed slowly. They gave him gas. It was better than being on urban patrols though. Those guys had a lot less food, and had to worry about Stranded killing them for it. As a Second-Tier veteran, having served five years officially, and five then in the Youth Guard, Howe received a few choice opportunities. Despite the extreme nature of where they were going, he'd jumped at the chance. He'd been there for some of the larger operations, and didn't relish the opportunity of being relegated to a number on a map—just another Gear to die so Command could tell the people they were fully committed to defending the plateau. No one really mentioned the Stranded unless it was to shiver in revulsion or make joke. If you lived on the plateau you agreed with Command that the Stranded were in effect lost, because you didn't want to become one yourself.

There were plenty of rumors about the Stranded. Like how they were actually working with the Locusts. That one probably wasn't true. He'd seen enough of them slaughtered by Grubs and Kryll. Still, they were not to be trusted. Even if COG defeated the locusts tomorrow, they would begin fighting the Stranded the next day. That being said, there were others stories of COG citizens being taken in or captured by the Stranded. It was a particular fear of many women on the plateau. Even though, being a citizen of a population that was in decline meant that if a woman didn't have a husband and children, she could be assigned a breeding partner to help ensure the population. Ideally, they would've used En Vetro cylinders, but those required a lot of power and resources. To escape, or at least delay the inevitable, many women went into the COG military branch. His wife had done that. They hadn't been successful at having a child.

The three King Ravens burned sound through the sky. Their rotors had been hyper-cranked to give them better speed at the cost of sudden maneuverability. That could be fatal if there were Nemacysts around, so it was not a common feature on the choppers. However, Command believed that Seeders would have trouble digging in frozen ground. Howe was certain that they would find out.

He tried to appreciate the landscape, but it was most the same vast expanse of white snow and cold ground. There places where it looked like the ground had been molded by giant hands. Ribbed, rough ground would be in one area, a row of low hills, and even a mountain or two. The southern pole region of Sera hadn't been settled. People had chosen to fill up its more moderate climates. These same areas were the prime targets for the Locusts. But, people had come out this way. Wherever the imulsion was, people were bound to find it. Perhaps during the summer it wouldn't be so bad with the sun up twenty four hours a day. That would keep the Kryll away at least.

"Lieutenant?"

Howe turned to look at Sergeant Clevinger. "What is it?"

"How did they move their equipment out here? It couldn't have been all by helicopter."

"There was a train track down there somewhere." He pulled a Data-pad from a slot in his armor. Its digital display showed a satellite map of the area. There were two lines leading to the facility. One red and one blue. He pointed to the red line. "They brought most of the gear on the train, and sent the first imulsion shipments back on tanker cars." He pointed to the blue. "When the demand went up they installed the pipeline."

"Easy to follow back I suppose."

"Sure, as long as you don't freeze to death. Or the locusts don't get you."

Gear battle armor was rated to withstand many environment hazards as well as direct physical damage. However, it wasn't invulnerable. Command said that they calculated a 30 chance of Gear survival in a sub-arctic area. Once they secured the facility, their first priority would be to get the environmental controls back on. If everything was in order, the imulsion would power the facility, and they would have plenty of heat. Or so Command and Colonel Gaines assured him.

The Colonel was in the rear King Raven along with Dr. Mika and his technician team. There was also a few hundred pounds of gear that would supposedly be required to get the facility up again. It was foolish in a way. What was the point of trying to repair a facility for imulsion if the precious fluid had to cross a mass of land that left it vulnerable to Locust attack? A sick and freezing air that spoke of a waste of time and life hung in the air all about them, but Howe was willing to play along. He suspected there was something else going on. Gaines was a friend of Colonel Hoffman, who Howe knew mostly by reputation. Hoffmann had been advocating a direct attack against the Locusts' underground home for the past few years. Orbital beams and poison gas had only scorched the surface and killed minimal amounts of the enemy. Everyone could agree that Hoffman was right, but no one knew how they could achieve his objectives.

"We've got smoke in the distance," said one of the pilots.

"The facility?"

"Negative. Looks to be about four klicks out."

Gaines got on the Comm. "What do we have?"

"Smoke. But not from the facility. We should keep going, sir. We can fly by and assess the situation then."

"Negative, Howe. There's a hill just before the effected area. Use it as cover, and take Zulu team in on foot to investigate. Team Howard and my tech team will continue on to pumping station and secure it."

"Sir, the station could be crawling with Locusts."

"Yeah, so if you want to get any, then you better find out what that smoke is, and then make your way to rejoin us. Gaines out."

Clevinger shook his head. "That guy's gonna get his techies killed."

"Team Howard is solid. They'll hold out until we get there."

"I'm not sure I'm worried about them."

XXX

Team Zulu had been hand-picked by Howe. Clevinger had been with him for years. The two men had been part of now defunct teams that no longer existed. Survival was a great way to get to know each other. The other men: Bryce and Dillion had been part of the Youth Guard when Howe was there. When he came across them again, he couldn't help but feel the need to reconnect. With so many people dying it was common to find yourself trying to make friends with new people every few months. Howe figured it was easier if he just already knew them.

They ran, trying to stay low. No point in giving a Grub sniper the perfect headshot. They each wore a white ski mask for warmth. Their armor had also been primed to have whitish tint. That was special "aid" Command had authorized. As they rounded the side of the hill, Howe saw a snow bank growing off the side of it. He signaled the others, and they took cover behind it. Howe pointed to his eye, and nodded to Clevinger. The sergeant peeked over their cold, white hiding place with his Longshot. Two seconds later he took cover again.

"Looks like Stranded."

"How could they get out here?"

Clevinger made a face. "They've got some kind of vehicle. It looks like they got hit."

"Locusts."

"I don't know. I thought Command said Locusts wouldn't come out here. "

Howe scratched the two days growth of beard under his ski mask. "Command also said that burning our own cities would destroy the Locusts' ability to fight."

Clevinger nodded. "Now what?"

"I didn't bring anything to trade, did you?"

"No."

"Unless the Colonel would do it..."

"Doubt it."

"Let's say 'hello'. At least figure out what hit them. They are alive, right?"

"I think."

"I thought you said you could gauge any area with a quick look."

Clevinger smiled. Little bits of his moustache were peeking out of his white mask. "I'm still worried that one day a Boomer will be right there. "

"When that happens, you won't have time to regret it, so don't worry."

He really didn't like the idea, but if he could deal with these people without resorting to violence, then he would. Howe took off the white ski mask and hung it on the end of his Lancer's chainsaw-bayonet. He told the others to stay down until he initiated contact. When he stood, and walked around the low wall of snow, he saw what Clevinger was talking about, even though the glare due to his lack of snow-goggles was horrendous. These Stranded had taken what could've been an old APC and retrofitted it with all manner of random junk including what looked to be pieces of wood and barbwire. The smoke was coming from the back of it. Not a good sign, considering the vital components were in the lower rear of those vehicles.

He waved the rife with his make-shift flag over his head. "Stranded," he called, "Do not fire. I mean you no harm."

There was nothing at first. He could hear the fire burning, and the wind continuing to spread the smoke high. It would be visible for several kilometers. A beacon for anyone else foolish enough to be this far south. As some of the smoke moved away, he saw bodies. Several Grubs had been cut down by small arms fire, and a generous helping of bloody detritus meant that someone got lucky with a grenade. _Good for them._ Most of the COG leadership wrote the Stranded off as being nothing but a detriment to the war effort. But, Howe had been taught to judge people slowly. He'd seen Stranded do braver things than most Gears would do. They were often uneducated, crazy, and stunk something fierce, but he would never underestimate them.

"Stranded, I have medical supplies, and maybe some other goodies if you let me see you. Do not fire. I am not here to hurt you."

He knew that Clevinger was already scanning the area with the Longshot. If things got bad there would be a lot more blood. _At least I tried._

"Keep your hands up, COG man!" A tall Stranded stepped out from behind the truck. He had an old Gnasher trained on Howe. "You said you got medical supplies?"

"Yeah, I got a kit. And I got more stuff than that. You got injured?"

The man's face was dark, but Howe couldn't tell if it was grime or the man's complexion. Part of the bridge of his nose was busted into his face, and it had healed that way. He could see that the texture of the skin was like that of an old suitcase that had seen too many kilometers and too much abuse. "Yeah, we got injured. Injured, dead, missing, freezing, starving, if you can think of it COG man, then I can tell you we got it."

"What are you guys doing out here? The south frontier isn't hospitable."

"And the rest of the world is?" The Gnasher was still raised.

He couldn't allow this to turn into an argument. Howe's thoughts drifted back to his early teaching at the East Barricade Academy. He knew the audience he was dealing with. He had to make the appropriate adjustments. "Look, what's your name? Mine's Howe. I was thinking that we could trade. Help for info."

The Stranded considered him for a moment. "How many other COG men you got behind that snow drift?"

"Three. And a King Raven down a ways." He regretted saying it immediately. His training to gain trust by offering help could perhaps get the better of him. _Too late now._

"Tell 'em to come out." The Gnasher was lowered. "I can play nice too."

It was Howe's turn to consider the opposing man. "Come on out, guys."

The others slowly came to join then. Their guns were kept pointed down to go along with the show of peace. Tactically it was a stupid, because if the tall Stranded wanted to, he could've taken them all out with the Gnasher. But he didn't. Howe could only speculate what these people were about.

Once they were all there more Stranded came out of the truck. Three men, one woman, and now Howe could hear the groaning of the wounded. _The others must've been covering their mouths._ He'd seen similar things happen when Berserkers were set loose in an area. Frequently people suffocated their wounded friends out of fear, and ended up dying too when the Berserker heard their horrified reaction at what they'd done.

"How many?"

"Al," said the tall Stranded, "My name is Al, and we have seven people left alive. We began as fifteen."

"You had fifteen people in an APC?"

"In, on, hanging on. Whatever we could do."

Their clothes were in awful shape, but each wore several layers. That combined with huddling together could've kept them alive. He wondered if they'd fixed the heater in the APC too.

"Dillion, see to their wounded." The younger man went to do so. Howe offered his canteen to Al. He could see Clevinger's eyes wince out of the corner of his own eye. Clevinger was wary of anyone not in their team, even fellow Gears. Al accepted the water, and Howe asked what he wanted to know. "What happened?"

"What always happens: Locusts. We'd stopped to make sure our people were alright, eat some snow and stuff, and they hit us. Nothing more complicated than that."

"And you're out here because?"

"Why are you out here?"

"COG business. I asked you first."

"Stranded business."

_Easy_. "Fair enough. Let's…" The ground began to shake. "Shit." _At least I solved the mystery of whether the Grubs can dig in the snow._ "Get you're people back in the truck, Al, and send my man out here."

He began moving. Bryce and Clevinger maintained supporting wing points. Howe hoped that Clevinger would get the chance to use the Longshot.

"Eleven o'clock," yelled Clevinger.

Howe threw a frag, but it went too far. _Damned glare. I'm gonna go snow blind._ The first Grubs that erupted out of the emergence hole ducked from the remaining fragments, but were unharmed. Bryce ran to the truck for cover, firing as he went. Howe aided him as best he could with a full clip of bullets from his Lancer. He didn't notice that he'd forgotten to take his ski mask off the end of it, and little pieces of synthetic white fabric fluttered through the cold air as the bullets sent the Grubs scurrying for their own cover. Then he reloaded as fast as he could. Clevinger made it to the snowdrift and buried himself behind it. A moment later, a high caliber round tore the knee cap off a Grub that had been running toward Howe. Howe met the stumbling drone with his Lancer's saw chewing into the creature's collar bone. A wet crunch later, and the Grub was dead, though not cut in half.

The rest of Howe's ski mask and a torrent of blood covered his armor and parts of his face. However, Howe didn't let the dead Grub fall to the ground. He grabbed the body, and held it in front of him with one arm in a half-Nelson, while his other arm used the Grub's shoulder as a rest to fire his Lancer more accurately. The Grub's former comrades tore into his chest with shots from their Hammerburst rifles. Howe used the chance to mow them down.

Another crack from Clevinger's position dropped a leaping Grub. Howe heard Bryce chain sawing a Grub behind him. A loud blast near the truck brought Howe's gaze. A Locust's head and shoulders had been reduced to abused tidbits. Al had managed to snag one last Grub with his Gnasher. The man was getting better and better in Howe's opinion.

As it often did, the violence ended suddenly. Howe had first noted that when he saw combat on volunteer patrols during his stint in the Youth Guard. After his first taste of fighting, he'd been unable to sleep for two days. There was always the fear of more Locusts, more Locusts. As he got older it was all the more routine. The only thing that was different was who died.

Al came up and offered him a handful of snow to clean his face off. Howe took it gratefully, and did so.

"Not bad, Cog man, not bad at all. You might be useful."

"I was just thinking the same thing. Where the Hell is Dillion?"

"He's back at the truck. I told him to stay, and I came out to help."

"Dillion, come out here and give me a report."

A moment later the younger Gear emerged. Howe noticed two things. Dillion's arm-coverings had been taken off, and his arms were covered in blood.

"Did you lose a patient or something?"

"Unfortunately yes, but we gained another one."

"What?"

Al spoke: "I forgot to mention that one of our people was pregnant."

"Well," Howe said, "It's still early and we already have a Hell of a day going on."

Clevinger had come up to them, and he spoke: "The Colonel's going to love this."


	2. When the kids come home to play

Chapter 2: When the kids come home to play…

Chapter 2: When the kids come home to play…

_Home to Roost_

The Stranded vehicle was too damaged for them to fix on the scene. Clevinger mentioned something about Mika and some of his tech team being able to fix it, but Howe had severe doubts. Gaines had his objective, and that was going to be much more important than helping out a group of Stranded, who weren't supposed to be there anyway. He'd made a choice, and despite the fact that Gaines had sent him there, it was Howe's responsibility to deal with these people. He would take them to the pumping station. Where else could they go? _Where were they going in the first place?_

Al had given him a new hope about what the abandoned people could do. And they were also grateful for the help. Dillion's delivery of the baby had created a bond. Temporary though it may have been. The loss of the mother loomed over all though. Children and child-bearing women were valuable. The Chairman himself had made numerous speeches about the value of such things. _"When we win this war," he said, "We'll offer thanks to the brave and determined women of our coalition. A mother is behind every brave Gear, and every COG citizen."  
_Howe couldn't help but picture Sarah the last time he saw her at home. She wouldn't look at him. He assumed the doctors told her who was at fault for their not having a child. She wouldn't tell him, and either way, she said she wouldn't leave him. He'd tried to be forceful. He was fairly certain that he was the problem. Sarah told him that they needed time. She volunteered for service in the King Raven crews. He hadn't seen her in two years. He used to get little notes from people he ran into that said she was alive. Eventually those stopped coming. All he had left were vague bits of memory. Images of her at different times. How could barely remember a time when there was no war.

As odd as it was, they met, fell in love, and got married all during the war. How many times had he left her there? How many times had he seen her face with that sad look on it? Not sad because he'd come back again, but because she knew he would leave yet again. He had a dream once where he came home to find her pregnant. "_I found_ _someone else to do it_," she said in the dream, "So _you wouldn't have to worry about it_."

"Lieutenant? Sir?"

"Sorry. Just coming down from the top."

The "top" was the high that some people got from combat. Howe suspected that most of it was from the thrill of seeing so many others die and not dying yourself.

His face was already getting cold, and he scraped crystals of frozen Grub blood off of it. Howe activated another special extra he'd taken along for this operation. It was a small heater that was placed around the collar of his armor. The small waves of heat were welcome on his previously sun-burnt skin that was finally starting to heal. The last operation had been down in a desert to the far south of Jacinto Plateau.

"Sir?"

"Sorry."

Clevinger pulled him aside, "You feelin' alright, Bill?"

"Yeah. Need some food maybe."

"Do you think Gaines will freak over this?"

"Don't know," he said taking a drink from his canteen, "But we gotta get to the station." He addressed everyone then. "We'll bury our dead the best we can, and then bug out to the station."

Al Spoke, "What are you guys doing over there?"

"COG business like I said. I'll get you inside where we'll have heat and food."

"And then?"

"After Colonel Gaines gets what he needs, there will be an evac to the plateau. That's all I can say."

Al seemed to consider this for a moment. Howe recognized the plight of a leader. It was something he'd faced more than once. Making the choices that saved or killed people had that effect. Al tapped the curved handle of the Gnasher.

"Suppose that'll have to work."

"It'll be better," Howe promised, "I'll make it work out."

XXX

Howe didn't give the pilots time to question what was going on. In a matter of moments Team Zulu and their Stranded friends were on board the King Raven. The rotors started up. Everyone was grateful for the heaters.

Dillion gave all of the Stranded water and a fruit bar. Howe didn't feel like mentioning what effects they had on people. Any food and water would've been good for these people. He dreaded to imagine what they'd been eating before. Not that he hadn't done the same things while out on the long patrols.

The copilot handed him a comm.-piece that Howe put in his ear. It was nice getting away from control once in a while. When he connected with Gaines he immediately heard the heavy gunfire. It was from the 30mm forward King Raven guns. What was Gaines up to?

"Howe? What the Hell's been going on over there?"

"Locust. We picked up some stranded too."

"You what?"

"You said to find out what was up, and we did."

"Whatever, I'll deal with that later. Get your ass over here. We got heavy resistance."

"On our way, sir." He clicked off.

Clevinger smiled. "So, how's Gaines doin'?" He knew the answer.

Howe said, "There's always something."

XXX

After leaving Al and the other stranded in an old storage hanger out from the station, Howe ordered the King Raven to begin making shooting runs before they put down. According to radio chatter Team Howard had already put their boots on the ground, and was fighting their way into the station. As Howe and the others flew over the scene they saw the carnage already taking place. Team Howard's King Raven was already down in a smoking jumble of twisted black metal. Survivors, if any, would be left on their own.

Gaines' Raven was circling. The circles were getting wider and wider to take them further away from the action that Howe's team was getting into. 30mm rounds were pouring out from the front of both Ravens ripping apart Nemacysts in the air and Grubs running along the frozen ground. The gelatinous squid bodies of the Nemacysts rained down on the char and blood-covered snow. Scores of dead Grubs littered the ground. The hope of entering the facility quietly was not just lost but obliterated and cast into the smoke-choked sky.

From a huddled position in the chopper, Clevinger began picking off entrenched Grubs. Howe didn't bother trying. Clevinger would alright, at least enough to secure a position on the facility's outer structure. Howe watched Clevinger's tongue as it snaked out of his mouth and the slit in his ski mask, and licked the tips of his moustache that were poking out. He considered reminding the Sergeant that he should trim the lip squirrel, but who was he to judge?

"We got a spot. Northwest tower."

"Get us down there," Howe told the pilots.

Old COG pumping stations were remarkable. They were built with the most basic of functions in mind, but took on lives of their own with it came to their aesthetics. They had multiple drilling stations with reservoirs, as well as catch tanks to capture any erupted imulsion. As a result stations had several large and dwarf towers to go along with the central hub, giving them the look of ancient castles. This same design was used for the smaller stations built underground to serve factories, but this station, called Alhazred, was a titan built to drain a vast ocean of imulsion under the frozen surface of Ticonderoga Concern, the name of the surrounding area claimed by the COG authority.

Howe and the others edged closer to the door as the chopper eased in. Small arms fire rattled on the underside of the Raven. He could smell the smoke in the air. From the engine, the wreckage of the other Raven, and he could even smell the faint notes of imulsion, which had had a sour earthy smell.

At times like this Howe hated the bulky nature of Gear armor. It was worth it when a wretch was looking to make a nest out of your intestines or a when a few grub bullets would bounce off of it, but it made you move as though you were carrying a small person around your neck. Even the little bit of added muscle power the suit afforded him with its servos gave only the slightest help. Not the sort of help that made a jump like this a confidence-laden choice. He missed being a greenhorn private then. At least he could've waited till he heard the order. As it was he had to give it.

"Jump it!"

He yelled something liquid and viscous when his feet slammed onto the metal walkway. He was sure that he'd broken a toe. The others made it with little fuss. Clevinger set up position immediately to scope ahead. Bryce ran ahead to take up position behind one of the support struts coming down from the level above them. Dillion gave Howe a wink. This was their job. _It beats waiting behind the walls atop the plateau. Give me a gun, and tell me where the enemy is. Any of that is better than waiting._

He looked up to thank his pilots as the King Raven pulled away in retreat. His wave was the prelude to two rockets that slammed into the chopper filling the inside with so much swirling smoke and rolling fire.

The COG helicopter continued its withdrawal somehow from the facility. It may have been the last will of the pilot to set the chopper on a slow and limping course away. The journey was short lived, and the chopper planted itself into the field below that had already been plowed with so much smoke and blood.

"BOOM," Howe heard deep voices say.

XXX

A blast from Howe's gnasher ripped off the head and left shoulder of a grub he'd surprised around a corner. Ribbons of blood and flesh fluttered away in the frigid air. The blood that hit the metal rails froze almost instantly to form drooping sanguine icicles. It had been that way for several grubs as Team Zulu made their way along the main structure of the facility. The presence of Boomers was enough to make Gaines pull his Raven completely back. The task would now fall on Howard and Zulu alone.

"You know was I was thinking?" asked Clevinger.

"No, I don't." Howe did his best to maintain speed behind Bryce, who was going so fast that stray grubs were getting between him on the others.

Clevinger continued, "Shouldn't you be leading Team Howard? Howe: Howard. It makes sense."

Bullets raked sparks along the metal walls near Howe's head. A tiny fragment scratched his cheek, and he could feel the small trickle of blood despite the cold air. "That's confusing," he said, "Why would Command make such a placement? Besides, I like the Zulu handle."

"I didn't say that I didn't like it."

They heard Bryce screaming along with his chainsaw bayonet. He was around a corner, and all they could see was the torrent of red spraying out and creating a patch of dark ruby colored ice on the metal grate floor. They waited with guns ready for a second. Bryce walked back to give them a gore-splattered thumbs up.

"Don't get too far ahead," Howe said, "You think I'm in the mood to worry about a wounded man?"

"But you would. I know how every member of our team is, sir."

Howe shook his head. "Just keep going."

"I wish we could do more research on grub blood," said Dillion, "We have only little bits of information as it is."

Clevinger huffed. "Hard to do your book work when you got grubs with guns coming at you all the time."

"Enough," said Howe, "You got a point, Dillion. Goddamn. Delivering babies and now playing military biologist. This outfit isn't big enough for you. What's next?"

"Boomer!"

"Take cover!"

The first rocket clipped the corner, and exploded. They all covered their faces, and Howe was sure that like him, they all took a moment to make sure that they were still alive.

Heavy foot steps rattled the metal walkway. It was coming.

Clevinger lobbed a grenade around the corner. The only reaction from the Boomer was a low growl. Following the blast, Howe took advantage of the smoke. He peeked around the corner, and emptied a clip from his lancer into the lumbering giant. It still wasn't dead.

A second rocket hit the wall. Howe was left rocked by the blast, and had to be pulled back by Bryce and Dillion. Clevinger leaned out for a solid shot, and the boomer's head ruptured like a rotten melon dropped on concrete. The giant slumped to the ground. Its boomshot hit the metal floor.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm not allowed to do that," Clevinger said. He held the ejected shell in his fingers for a moment. Clevinger kissed the hot metal shell casing, and then let it drop like a coin on its way down a well to give birth to a wish.

Howe knew that if there was a "later" Clevinger would comb his moustache in complete silence for over an hour. He assumed in was the man's way of coming to terms with his day. Clevinger had originally come out of one of the rural areas that the Locust Horde had taken a long time to focus on. That fighting had been up close and hard. When they weren't fighting, Clevinger's people had been living underground for fear of the Kryll. The Kryll had begun their nightly swarming in areas with few lights. That kept the cities safe for several years. Years of living like that could take a person down many paths. Somehow Clevinger became a Gear, and later ended up with Howe. That was how life worked. People ended up somewhere as long as they didn't die.

Howe carefully walked up to the dead boomer. He picked up the boomshot. He handed it to Clevinger. There was no need for words. It was only fitting that the sniper receive such a trophy. But, when Clevinger had the rocket launcher in his hands he fired it right over Howe's head. Howe bent down. His ears were aching and face burned from the close blast of the rocket's motor. He was going to punch Clevinger, when he heard the futile growl of the other boomer. He looked just in time to see it falling from the walkway that Clevinger destroyed with the rocket. The large locust hit the frozen ground below on his back with a grunt. It was struggling to sit up when another rocket fired by Clevinger left a flesh-filled crated where its chest had been.

A transmission came through. It was from Team Howard, "What is your position? Over."

Howe obliged. "We're on the northwest face of the pumping station. Heavy resistance. Over."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Saw your Raven go down. That's two."

"Did you get the Seeder? There's got to be a Seeder."

"We don't have the Hammer. Gaines does. But hey, our transmissions are okay. So maybe it left."

"Get Gaines on the Comm. If we can scrape the side area of the facility with the Hammer of Dawn we can move into the main structure. We need to—"

The whole facility began to shake with the ground beneath it. Howe braced himself against the wall. Over the Comm. he could hear Team Howard's reaction to the same shaking. It lasted for only a few moments.

All combat action ceased.

"They're withdrawing," said Howard's leader, "We need to meet up now."

XXX

Sometimes the Locust would do things even more surprising that coming out of holes and killing you: like withdrawing for no particular reason. Howe had seen it before and never relaxed after it happed. He wanted to. He needed to at some point.

"Funny how it works out," said Colonel Gaines, pacing around in his officer's armor as he admired the structure in front of them. "We wanted the station, and now we got the outside. Know what that means now boys?"

They did.

Of the two downed Raven crews, only one pilot survived. Another held on for a time, but her injuries were too much, even for the very dedicated Dillion. Howe watched as Dillion combed her hair, and held her hand for an hour before she died. It was terrible, and yet the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day. He put on one of the facemasks so no one would see him cry.

Despite the situation they were in, his eyes kept going back to the dead woman. Her face with its last tears and blood kept melting into Sarah's face. _Sarah is dead,_ he thought, _she's not this poor woman that you're looking at, but somewhere at some point it must've happened._

He wondered if she had had someone like Dillion there: a bright-eyed boy of a man to hold her hand and comb her hair one last time.

Gaines walked up to Howe. "Not a bad show," said the Colonel, "Think you can do it again for the inside? We'd like to get the heat on at some point today."


	3. Light in the Silence

Chapter 3: Light in the Silence.

Team Zulu and Team Howard entered the station at opposite ends. Gaines and his tech team had set up a base outside. The last King Raven was sent back to the Forward Firebase that was half way back to Jacinto. Bases like that didn't last long. Grub holes dug out most of them. Sometimes they were lucky enough to get some steel plates made from melted-down scrap. Those could help, but nothing really stopped the Locust. Not even the frozen ground of Ticonderoga Concern.

As they made their way inside, Howe listened to the sounds of their boots. He paid attention to these so he would know when different sounds came close. A lot of Grubs had boots that sounded just a little bit different from the normal COG issue. He would rely on his experience, and his Gnasher to see him through.

They came into an equipment room close to the main doors. It had been looted to some extent, but still had the most basic of important things: survival suits, some portions of Gear armor, and boots.

He radioed back. There was no Seeder interference still. "We've got a nice cozy room for your guys in here, Gaines. Gather up your team and our Stranded guests. It's out of the wind in here at least."

Gaines agreed. Dillion looked happy that his new Stranded patients would be kept warm. _The more people that are happy the better we'll be overall_.

He radioed Team Howard. According to them there was no sign of Locusts. They found a few ammo caches, but couldn't be sure who set those up. Howe left some ammo and a Snub pistol in the supply room. Dillion donated a Hammerburst rifle he'd grabbed. There were plenty leftover. Clevinger held on to the Boomshot. It wasn't the kind of gun to hand over to someone who might be too jumpy not to shoot when it mattered.

Blair, the leader of Team Howard, radioed in to say that there were Troikas in position or dropped before they could be installed. It raised a lot of questions in Howe's mind: _why hadn't the Grubs used the Troikas, and why were they so dug in at Alhazred? What was here for the Locusts? _Blair said that they needed to get people on the Troikas as soon as possible to cover the front yard on shifts. Gaines chimed in to remind them about the train depot and the pipeline feed. Each was a possible entrance point.

They were all ready.

But there was nothing. Just the sounds of the station shifting on the frozen ground. The radiant-heat defrosters hadn't been used for awhile, but not years as they would've expected. Even the inner rooms and hatchways they explored were not all that cold. They were grimy, and not properly maintained, but the facility had been lived in.

The Locust claimed it. But how long had they been out there_? Do they want the_ _imulsion?_ He'd read files that stated that Ticonderoga Concern had been founded during the Pendulum Wars, but it was the COG that built Alhazred. The COG that succeeded. Not the Locust.

XXX

Days passed. Doctor Mika and his techs got the power on along with the heat. Water and foodstuffs were also still viable, and backed up by the supplies they salvaged from the Ravens. Gaines radioed in for supply drops that would hopefully arrive in two days. There was no official timeframe placed upon the operation. Hoffman wanted something, and Gaines was going to supply it no matter what it cost. COG resources were stretched thin as it was. Whatever they were getting for Hoffman must have been big.

They secured all the entrances. Some were sealed from the inside, others were booby trapped, and they kept one entrance open and under guard. Everyone took turns on the door and on one of the troikas on the upper catwalk perch. Al and his people adapted well. They were given a living area that belonged to long-gone workers. Howe intended to slowly convince Gaines to allow the Stranded to share in the guarding of the facility. Until they got reinforced, if ever, they would need everyone.

The baby was doing well. A Stranded woman named Hannah had taken to its care. Dillion was also there whenever he found the time. Howe believed the baby to be a lucky one. _In a rough outpost like this, it's bound to end up like Clevinger._

As Howe had suspected, his old friend the sniper found plenty of time to brush that mustache. Clevinger ranged all over the facility looking for the ideal nesting spots. The extra Longshot ammunition went missing. Howe didn't say anything. His friend knew what he was doing. With enough ammo and a good line of sight Clevinger could hold a whole battalion of Grubs down.

They all fell into a kind of regularity. Howe would rise early and wash his face in front of a mirror. His short hair didn't even need to be trimmed anymore. He shaved when he had to, as the stubble only made his haggard tanned face all the more desperate looking. After he was done, he would walk all of their major positions. He checked his guns constantly. He kept them clean and kept the parts from jamming. Guns were often abused and handed down soldier to soldier. New ones were a rare treat, and even the new ones were made from salvaged materials. Analysis told them that the Grubs did the same thing. Guns changed sides frequently. The war had metastasized into a civil war of sorts. The Pendulum wars, The Locust War—so much time had passed in conflict. He wondered if people would remember how to get by if the war did end.

_Your way of life_, he thought, _are you going to be willing to part with it?_

The routine plagued him. He figured that the least he could do was speak to Al. The Stranded leader intrigued him. Somewhere deep behind that hard lined face was a man who had something to tell him.

Howe checked his gun again. It was still functional.

He went down to where the Stranded made their quarters. It was a place of calm productivity. Piles of old clothes and cast-off bits of junk were organized apparently by their usefulness. Hannah was there making clothes and blankets for the baby. One of the little outfits had been cut from an old survival suit. One couldn't help but wonder if the survival properties would be preserved.

"How goes your day?"

"Fine," she said, "Plenty of work to do." She focused on the clothes, and barely looked at him. "Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

"You can call me 'Bill'."

"I'm more comfortable with 'Lieutenant'."

He breathed steadily. "Can we settle for 'Howe'?"

She looked at him then. "Alright. What can I do for you?"

Howe leaned against one of the bulkheads of her corner with his weapons stowed on his back. He knew he needed time out of the suit. It could really smell after awhile. He didn't want any smells to offend the baby as it lay there in a bundle near the clothes Hannah was making. "How's the kid doing?"

"She's well. Healthier than most of our children ever get."

"The food."

"Yes," she said, suddenly mussing with the downy hair of the infant, "And Brian…I mean, Corpsman Dillion brings her vitamins."

Dillion must've been draining some of his liquid "Horse Pills" into the baby's food. The pills were designed to keep Gears in good working order despite a lack of food and nourishment. Dillion looked to be sharing the love. Howe wondered.

Hannah didn't allow him to do so for long, "If you're looking for Al, he went up to get a look outside."

"Whereabouts?"

Hannah took awhile to answer. "There's a ladder 'round the back behind those crates."

"Why did you tell me?"

She didn't look him in the eyes, but continued to fiddle with the baby's hair. "Brian says you're a good man."

"That right?" He smiled at the thought of Dillion telling these people of his "goodness." The kid was so naïve that it had become one of his better qualities.

"Understand," she said, "It's not easy to trust the COG. Not after all that you've done."

He stood up straight. "Fair enough. Take care of that kid." He started to walk away, but as he did, he asked, "What's that kid's name anyway?"

Hannah looked at him. Despite the obvious signs of hard-living on her skin, she wasn't unattractive. She was also a lot cleaner than when he first saw her. Her hair was a rough brown, the color of an old log. Her eyes were deep green like algae on said log. "I don't know," she said, "I can't think of one that I like."

"Tough thing naming a kid sometimes. How about 'Sarah'?"

"I'm not sure I like that one."

"Oh well," he said walking away, "It was just a thought."

"Thank you," he heard as he headed up to meet Al.

XXX

Al was sitting on an observation platform that some scientist must have used. An old telescope mount was there. A more recent observer, a Locust, had mounted a Troika up there instead. Howe didn't raise the issue of this as yet unaccounted for weapon. The Stranded were already armed. Gaines didn't seem to notice anything beyond what was going on in the interior of the station where he and his tech scientists hung out. They were doing what they came here to do, and if that lack of interest prevented conflict then it was worth it.

Al actually had old cigars of some kind. Howe declined. Al's own smoke curled and drifted around his face in ethereal tendrils that embraced him. While the Stranded leader had washed and shaved to some degree, he was naturally dark skinned, and his rough skin was a coat of honor.

"Took you long enough," Al said, "Did you see the baby?"

Howe nodded.

"A healthy lookin' baby is a beautiful thing. Don't see it often."

"I imagine not."

"You got any kids?"

"No."

"Wife?"

"Not anymore."

Al nodded. "World aint easy for nobody anymore."

Al knocked the ash of the cigar's tip off by tapping it on the side of his well-worn shotgun. "You wanna know why we were comin' out here? It wasn't an easy choice. Not many of those left."

"Tell me about it."

"You sure you don't want that smoke?"

"Yep."

"Alright. When you COG boys move through a burnt-out city, you notice how many of the lights still work?"

"I figured a lot of the grids would be intact. Some of those areas can last for years on their imulsion taps."

The Stranded leader coughed. "Yeah, along with solar and even some very old geothermal plants. The Grubs might even be sketchy to go near those hot places."

"So?"

"Well, they still damaged from the orbital bombardment, but the imulsion remains. If we got the juice, we got a chance."

"You brought these people out here. People who should be kept safe."

Al laughed, "Where am I supposed to keep them safe? A lot of our camps have been smoked. I was already on my way, so I figured it was worth it to try and take 'em someplace better."

How leaned in closer. He wanted to know about this part. "Closer to Alhazred?"

"Uh huh. You got your orders. I got mine: get the power on in the region. Get the imulsion up the pipeline."

"For what?"

"You a good man, Howe?"

"Some people saw so. Try me."

"Shit. This is crazy, but hear I am talkin' to you anyway. There's a string of small towns north of here. They're hidden in a forest. They've been left alone for awhile now with you guys and the Locusts fighting it out in the cities. If they can get some more power, they'll be better off. Kryll, you know."

He couldn't believe this. "So, you volunteer to come down here and live as long as you can just to give them power?"

"I'm not alone. Our people have been tryin to rebuild for years. We're tryin to take back the power plants and the factories. If we can produce, we can _produce_, you know?"

Howe thought about the baby.

"For the hope of the future," Al said.

"Who are you?"

Al smiled, "Senior Civil Engineer Alvin Dixon. Been a while since I had my suit and name badge. Sorry for not being dressed up for you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." They shook hands.

"…Howe?" It was Gaines over the radio.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come to the control room on the double."

"Affirmative." He stood up. "Well, Mr. Dixon, I gotta get back to work."

"Always plenty of work," Al said through a torrent of smoke.

"That there is."

XXX

Blair was already there and speaking with Colonel Gaines when Howe arrived. The leader of Team Howard wore a face mask as did the rest of his team. It was open to reveal a plain faced man with a shaved head and piercing blue eyes. Team Howard had been a reserve team kept close to Jacinto to repel Locust intrusion. Hoffman had given them to Gaines as a favor.

Almost a minute passed before Gaines acknowledged Howe. "Way to make it on time, Lieutenant. Please join us."

He was offered a cup of coffee and a foil-packed Danish. Howe forced himself to enjoy the hospitality. It was better than warm canteen water and a fruit bar. Howe was urged to sit down with Blair and Gaines. Dr. Mika joined them. The doctor was top-shaped in that he had extra weight on his stomach and rear but was very thin in the legs and chest. His face looked to have grown nothing of a beard aside from a few stray and oddly long hairs.

"Doctor," said the Colonel, "Please impress upon our team leaders the importance of this operation."

"Yes." The doctor fiddled with a remote, and a holographic display came to life and projected a curious schematic in the air above them. To Howe it looked like a jumble of tubes and hoses around a large cylinder. _A bomb._

"This is the Light Mass Bomb. We believe it to be the weapon we've been waiting for against the Locust Horde. That is why we came to Alhazred. To build it here."

"Why not build it on Jacinto?" asked Blair.

"We tried. We don't have the parts or the necessary imulsion to refine power."

"But this place does?"

"This facility," said Mika, "Contained the original prototype."

"You see," said the Colonel, "This station was built just after the Pendulum Wars when imulsion was just becoming the major energy boom it was. At the time, the administrators were told to prepare for a possible fracturing of COG. They didn't want certain elements taking possession of it, so they designed a bomb that could penetrate underground into the imulsion reservoirs and vaporize it."

"That's Hoffman's big plan," said Howe, "Just set off a big bomb underground and hope it works?"

"It very well could."

"How will Hoffman ever know where to deploy it?"

"We need to map the tunnels," said Gaines, noticeably trying to control his anger at Howe, "We have a team on Jacinto that are working on that device: a resonator."

Blair shrugged, and drank more coffee. After which, he said, "It all seems too good."

Gaines stood, opening his arms in a display meant to impress them that he was in fact the wise and knowledgeable one. "That's how things like this work. I could tell you stories about the Pendulum Wars you would never believe, and back then we didn't believe that it would ever end."

"Maybe we should be hopeful," Howe admitted. He had consumed the entire Danish. It was a white chocolate raspberry one. "It's hard for me to believe, but maybe I'm wrong. I guess I've lost sight of hope in the last few years." He didn't mention the baby, but it was crawling all over his mind.

Gaines cleared his throat, then spoke, "Then I guess you understand what's at stake."

"I do."

"We need to hold this facility at all costs. Nothing else matters."

Howe didn't agree with that part.


	4. The Outside In

Chapter 4:

Chapter 4: The Outside In

A burst of fire. Precisely the same firing action from a hammerburst rifle. The bullets rattled on the wall of the facility not hurting anyone. Howe had been making his usual rounds when it happened. Several levels above Bryce opened up on the troika, and a hundred rounds shredded the snowy ground below. Howe ordered an immediate cease fire, and told Clevinger to locate the shooter.

While Howe waited for the sniper to report, a message came in from Blair. He wanted to go out on another patrol. In the past several days Team Howard had ranged further and further from the station. They found nothing, and Howe knew they were getting antsy. _Withdrawal symptoms_, Howe thought, _when will I feel them?_

He'd spent more and more time with the Stranded. More and more time trying to be like a human being ought to be. _That's how they're going to get me. I'll stop being a killer, and then I'll get killed._

He heard Clevinger giving Bryce coordinates over the Comm. They were going to trap the locust between bullets. "A lead-in to a pop" it was called.

"Alright," said Clevinger, "we need a volunteer." There was silence over the radio. "It's no big deal," the sniper continued, "Just someone to come out and tempt the little bastard."

_Grubs aren't little, but from where you are they must be._

"Who wants to do it?"

"I'll do it," said Howe, "I'm not going to order someone else to." He checked his lancer.

"Alright, the boss man's gonna do it. Listen here, boss, there is a crate full of scrap we set outside. Run for it, and that should be plenty to cover you from a standard Grub gun."

Howe made his way to the main door that they used. One of Team Howard's men stood diligently with his own lancer. Howe nodded to him briefly, and moved to the door. It was open.

"Did he spot you?" Howe asked the guard.

"I don't think so," said the Gear with the face mask. "I hang out of sight and let the people up top scope the yard. My orders are for the door."

"Lieutenant Blair wants to go on another out. Did you want one of my guys to go so you could stay here a while. Maybe get a little more sleep or chow?"

The Gear showed no change in his body language. His face was covered by the mask with the blue-glowing eyes. Howe admitted that the mask offered some protection and did bolster low-light vision, but he still didn't like them.

"I'll go if he wants to. The walking is good. Maybe you should try it, sir."

Howe didn't want a confrontation about insubordination. There wasn't enough time. Clevinger was waiting for him.

He took off at a run for the large junk-filled crate. Howe slid into cover just as the burst of fire flew at where his head had just been.

Bryce began firing above with the troika. The first stream of lead trickled off into little spurts of fire. Howe peeked out from behind the crate to look. Bryce was trying to get the locust into seeking better cover. They had obviously determined his location. There wasn't a sound from Clevinger. It had to be assumed the sniper was watching. Howe stood to get a better look, when the sharp sound of a longshot broke above him. The troika stopped.

Clevinger's voice spoke through the comm.-piece in Howe's ear, "You know boss man, I didn't need you to stand there like a paper target, but, that helped us out just as well."

"What's with this 'boss man' shit? Glad to be of service. Maintain your position. I'm going out for a look at the Grub."

"You've seen plenty of them, Bill."

"Always more to learn."

Clevinger laughed, "I knew you supported a strong educational base. You should run for office back at the plateau."

"I'm not that desperate yet."

XXX

The snow crunched under his heavy boots. He kicked a little of it up. The snow pack was tight. It hadn't snowed for days, and even the sun with its ever-present glare couldn't melt everything. Part of him longed for a sudden storm to destroy the silence. Let the Grubs freeze to death as they came out of their holes. How much snow would be enough to keep them in their holes? He imagined Grubs suffering from frostbite.

Howe looked back at the station. Steam rose up from the metal catwalks. Mika's technicians had turned on the defroster wires that kept possibly dangerous areas free of ice. A luxury. People back on the plateau didn't need defrosters, but so many other things were long gone. The grace period between the Pendulum Wars and the Locust War had once been the signal for a new age of prosperity. Now it was only a bitter tease: short lived and unfulfilling.

It was so quiet. So bright, and so white. He had to squint as he moved. There wasn't a lot of cover. A few irregular rocks leftover from whatever glacier had passed on through. The pumping station could've been seen as an improvement. If the imulsion ever dried up he supposed people could use it as a commune far off from where anyone could bother them. That must have been appealing for Al. The Stranded knew they would only be grudgingly accepted back into the COG if at all.

For the first time he noticed a line off in the snow. It gleamed with the glare of the sun. As he got closer he saw steam coming off of it. The defrosting wires were uncovering the train tracks. _No way._

He thought back to the schematics Mika had shown them. The bomb was going to be huge. Too big for a King Raven to carry unless it cut down on passengers. _And we only have one of them now._ That meant that Mika's team was considering the train. _Or they could just be throwing random switches and this defroster came on. _He wondered how far the wires went.

A few minutes later he found the Grub hole. It was smaller than typical. Not the kind of insertion hole for a platoon of drones. Then he looked at the body. It was hard to look at anything but the large spray of blood and fleshy matter over the white snow.

Howe poked the body with the blade end of his Lancer. _Dead_. Clevinger had made a helluva shot from so far out. What would the sniper do if the war was over tomorrow? What would any of them do? There wasn't much left. If Mika's bomb worked they would be in for a hard time.

"Well?" asked Clevinger over the comm.

"You got him. Not much else to say."

"I knew that. At this range the bullet drops a little, plus we got wind up at this level."

"I wouldn't worry about a spoiled record."

Howe continued his examination. There was something odd about the whole situation. Why would one grub come out all this way for a few shots? The Horde had nearly a brigade's worth of men earlier. They obviously had known something about the facility's importance.

He took the grub's rifle and ammo. The grub might be pecked at by birds before it froze solid and the snow claimed it. Such a small hole was…

_Wait a second…_The grub's foot. It was still in the snow, but it was soaking wet, and not covered with the powdered snow. Howe put his lancer away, and pulled the gnasher from his back. He slowly tugged at the grub's leg. With some force it came out, along with a cloud of steam. He dug at the snow around the hole, and found the pipe. With the barrel of his shotgun in front, he examined the old pipe. Only a meter or so around. _Just enough_. Along the surface of the pipe was whatever crud had caked on it over the years. The bottom part had several scrapes and deep grooves where boots could've once slid by. The pipe led back to the facility.

He got on the comm.. "Alert! Locusts are headed inside through a pipe."

He heard the distant sounds of gunfire.

XXX

Howe's boots tore into the snow as he ran. Steam was rising up all around the facility as though it had just been laid liked an egg from some traveling metal giant. As he got closer he still couldn't see any sign of the fight. He tried raising someone on the Comm. Someone answered, but then left the Comm. on as they fought.

Over the radio waves he heard the screams, the shouts, the gunfire—they were the sounds of two modern civilizations battling it out in the most savage of ways.

"The Stranded," he heard, "Get to the Stranded quarters."

Howe pushed even harder to get there. A cramp bit into his side. He knew better than to tense himself in such ways during a run, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to be there.

"Where's Clevinger?" someone asked.

In response there was the sharp crack of a longshot. That was reassuring. Then there was an odd shot like a steel bolt striking a concrete wall. Then an explosion. People screamed. What was going on in there?

XXX

He got there about a minute after the last shots were fired. Most of the action had taken place in a processing room just outside from where the Stranded were holding up. One of Mika's technicians was welding a steel plate over the pipe that the locusts had come through. Howe made a mental note to rig a grenade on the outside end later on that day. _Too late though_.

Small debris was strewn about everywhere. Pieces of plastic and bits of stone. A tall locust in strange armor was lying dead on the floor. Near its hand was a strange marriage of rifle and crossbow: a torque bow. Clevinger confirmed that it was a Theron Guard. Howe had only seen them from far away. There wasn't much left of its face. It probably ran into Clevinger's sights.

As he worked his way further in to see the damage Howe saw the bodies. Grubs mostly. One more of Al's Stranded. The fighting had been close and bad. Bullet casings were everywhere, and Howe could even see the shattered fragments of bullets that struck the bulkheads. The incursion had been a success for the Locusts. They were all dead, but they had penetrated the defenses and wounded the humans inside of Alhazred.

Howe went to check on the Stranded, and that was when it all came home. In the corner was Hannah, curled up and protecting the baby. On the ground in front of her lay the crumpled and bloody form of Dillion.

There was a syringe filled with food he'd prepared for the baby still in his left hand. The other hand held a snub pistol that was still hot to the touch. He was very much dead.

Hannah was lost in weeping. The baby was held like some divine, precious beacon in the darkness: gentle and desperate. Howe didn't want to look, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't ever stop.


	5. Resistance

Chapter Five: Resistance

Chapter Five: Resistance

"This wasn't your fault, Bill," Clevinger said, "We've seen enough of this shit to know how bad it smells."

Howe didn't say anything. He stared out at the frozen wasteland below them. No one had gone out since the attack, and no other attacks had followed. There was only the sun reflecting off the endless snow, and the soft fading howl of the wind as it broke against the pumping station. It stood like a tombstone.

Clevinger continued, "He was a good kid. Best medic I ever met, and…Well, one of the last people I met who really cared."

Howe had stopped checking his guns. He stopped doing most things, but staring out at the far ranging distances. The Locusts Horde was out there. He felt them. They're sharing the same world was an offense. He had no tolerance for such a thing. If only he could kill them all. But that was all fantasy. The short-coming dream of bravado.

Numb warmth floated about him. Warmth from within and without. Not all that different from the feeling he got after those first few shots of radiator whiskey that the Stranded brewed.

"Bill?"

"I know," Howe said, feeling the freezing air as he breathed it into his lungs, "This is a beautiful and terrible place. For years I was convinced that I would die amongst the ruined husks of our society. A burnt-out car or a collapsed building. I would die in the filth and the grime of the old world. I would die where Sarah must've always imagined me dying. But not in this place."

"You're not going to die here. Get your head straight. Just because someone else dies doesn't mean—"

"—you think I've grown soft? That I'm not cut out for this job anymore? Not like Blair or Gaines, and certainly not like you."

Clevinger's eyes were like steel on him. The sniper studied him for a full minute before speaking, "You're better than this, Bill. You think I'd follow just anyone? There was a time when I thought about ditching all of Command's authority. I would go back into the ruins of Sera and live like an animal again."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I saw how you kept taking those jobs from the higher-ups. The shittiest work there was. Even when Sarah fell off the map, you still went out."

"There was no where else to go."

"That's right," said Clevinger, a torrent of steam rising from his mouth, "There's no where else to go, so we might as well fight for what's left."

The sniper scratched at his bushy mustache, and then walked away. Howe was left to dwell upon the cold lands before him.

XXX

"The situation has changed," Blair said, drinking his coffee, "We now see that they can break in here and hurt us. And a Theron Guard…This place must be important to them. The force they had here was bigger than most I've seen."

Howe had no corrections to this assessment. The Locust had put a literal horde of grubs out there when they first arrived. But no larger locusts were spotted except for the Boomers. There was something odd about that. Something so unlike the Locust, who did everything to hold the ground they'd taken. Howe nursed his own coffee, and waited for what was coming.

Blair had the projector going. They were looking at a digital display of the area surrounding Alhazred. Ticonderoga Concern was a large claim on the southern frontier. Much of what they had for maps were blank except for the ruins of old science stations. Even the special cold-weather troops the COG once employed trained in the artic, but not the ant-arctic. This was like being on a different planet rather than another part of Sera.

With the remote, Blair focused on an area further south, which eventually lead back to the north. "There are volcanic mountain ranges down here. Fissures, caves, and all sorts of entry points. Underground it might be warmer. This could be a major Locust colony," he said.

Gaines was uncertain, "That makes a lot of sense, and given their resources down here I suppose it has to be, but that's not our mission. Doctor Mika and his team are almost done." Gaines looked to the doctor, who nodded in quick assurance.

Gaines continued, "We're almost ready to go home. We've only taken two supply drops, and we're comfy. Hell, I even got some Stranded now qualified on Troikas. We can hold out until we're done, and then, gentlemen…" He looked around the men gathered at the table, "We can go home as heroes."

"The Stranded…" said Howe.

"Are coming with us," said Gaines, "I'm sure we can keep everyone happy here."

Blair wasn't done, "That does sound good, but my team and I have already ranged close to this place. We have a cache set up already."

"You removed supplies from this place?"

"Mostly leftover Grub weapons. Nothing vital, though we could borrow something else."

Gaines was holding back his anger quite well, Howe thought. He cast a stare of doom at Blair, who was to have been Gaines' ace to cope with the frequently moody Howe. Hoffman had promised a cooperative officer. A tool to get the job done.

Howe felt cold without the armor then. The coveralls just weren't the same. Cleaner, cooler, and lighter, but not the same. He could already feel the weight of the armor again. The sting of the cold air near those mountains Blair mentioned.

"What else?" The Colonel said each word as though his tongue was carving them from stone.

"I've spoken with Doctor Mika. We can take canisters of highly condensed imulsion, and drop them into these entrances. Any tunnels will collapse. Then we come back, and continue as we were."

"That's pretty thin," said Howe, "I understand where you're coming from, but we're going to need all we got here."

Blair averted his eyes from Howe, "_We'll_ be fine. Give us the 'go', Colonel. More dead Grubs for you. A strike to prologue your success here."

Gaines didn't say anything, but he nodded.

Howe finished his coffee. It had gone cold.

XXX

A day later Team Howard set out on their mission. Doctor Mika explained that he supported the idea in that the canister bombs relied on some of the same technology as the Light Mass bomb. Some early test results would be useful for their continued calibrations.

What could Gaines really say against it? He'd spoken so well of hair-brained schemes working that to go against one now would ruin his credibility. While Howe hadn't met Hoffman more than once, he was pretty sure that Gaines didn't measure up. For his own part, Howe was resigned to watch Blair and Team Howard leave. It was Blair's call. Howe went to go check on Hannah and the baby.

Since Dillion's death Hannah had clung to the baby and hadn't let it go. Howe's mind generated all manner of accidents or micro-tragedies that could blossom due to this, but he wasn't going to tell her not to. His authority ended with his team. Dillion was no longer "Dillion" but instead he was "Brian". Brian died, and Hannah had to deal with it in her own way.

Howe wasn't much of a grief counselor. His own issues were haunting enough without his melting them into someone else's. He was responsible for Dillion. And he regretted his own actions that may have resulted in the young man's death. He hated himself for it. But, what else was there to do?

Since the break-in, the Stranded had become vigilant. When Howe arrived at their quarters one of them was standing at the door with a Hammerburst. The man scrutinized Howe. They were neighbors, but they were far from united.

"Al says you can come in," the man said.

Howe nodded. He didn't touch any weapons nor act violently superior in anyway. That was hard for any Gear to do, but Howe had enough tact and training not to. The Stranded had lost a man too.

Inside, Hannah was in her corner with the baby. Other Stranded surrounded her in support. Al sat on an old box off to the side. He chewed a cigar, but wasn't smoking it. Howe tried not to look at the other Stranded. He knew what would be in those stares. He'd promised it would be better. For a while it had. _I'm just a man,_ he thought, _I can't change the bad way of the world._

He walked over to where Al was sitting. "I just came to make sure you guys were alright. Can I get anything for you?"

"We're alright, Bill. Bad as it is, we've been here before."

"The man you lost…"

Al took a breath, "Name was Charlie. Truck driver. Drove the vehicle down here for us."

"Sorry."

Al shook his head, "It's not your fault, Lieutenant Howe. Tell me though: the other Gear Team went outside yesterday, they haven't come back yet."

"Been paying attention, I see. Why do you ask?"

"Where'd they go?"

"South of here. Lieutenant Blair believes that there is some kind of Locust stronghold in some mountains there."

"They went by themselves?"

"We Gears do some crazy stuff like that. Team Howard is famous for it. What do you think we get all of those benefits for?"

The next look Al gave him was like a flesh-boring claw. He could feel every bit of it.

"I'm worried," said Al.

"Don't be. Mika's people have the power on. They're going to put the tap on as well."

"So that's why you COG boys were out here?"

"Why else would we be out here?" Even then he lied to them.

"Those men…You said 'Blair thinks' not 'we think'. You don't agree with this?"

Howe shrugged.

XXX

There was no radio contact from Team Howard. After three days of nothing Howe asked Gaines what he thought. The colonel said that he had nothing to say.

He added, "There are more important things. Mika is done or as close as he can get here. He says he'll need some more time. There's always something, but this is it, Howe. Hoffman will get his bomb, and we'll…  
There was distant roar. The facility as a whole shook. Howe could hear several people throughout Alhazred reacting to it over the radio and though the corridors. Even though the facility was ginormous everyone stayed close.

Howe asked the people on lookout if anything was visible.

Clevinger responded, "We got a bright light coming out of the south."

_Blair._

Gaines shook his head, "I still think it was foolish."

_He's not back yet, and we don't know what happened. _"How big is it, Clevinger?"

All they heard were the metal screams of the Troikas firing.

_Looks like it's big after all._


	6. A sight so superb

Chapter 6: A sight so superb

As far as guns went, Troikas were not elegant. The 30mm chain guns on the King Ravens were precision tuned with every round cycling and firing in perfect concert. This also meant that they had to be babied and maintained constantly. The Grub Troikas would occasionally see a feed-jam, but the gas-operation of its chamber was so strong that even the defective bullets were passed through even if this meant the odd round fracturing or possibly exploding near the operator. COG researchers were amazed at how much more effective this lack of safety made the guns. Any Gear storming a Troika nest could inform the civilian doubters that the Locust had some pretty good weapons. The small force defending Alhazred was grateful that they had them.

Howe sealed the front door, and had one of Al's Stranded hold out there with a Gnasher. Over the radio he gave orders that all inside doors be closed and locked, and only opened on a case by case basis. After seeing to all of this, he checked his weapons, and headed upstairs. With any luck Clevinger had everything under control. He radioed for the Colonel to join him.

XXX

Their positions on the upper platforms were clouds of smoke from the guns. The constant sunlight had also been dulled by a cloud front moving in. He wished it meant snow, even though there was no proof that the Locust would be hampered by snow. Perhaps he believed that no one would be able to tolerate lead and snow falling on them in waves. It was a pleasant thought.

The metal screams of the Troikas were not inviting. Holding his lancer ready, Howe scuttled over to the first gun position. Bryce was there with his fingers grown-over the twin triggers of the gun. Howe's eyes followed the trail of brightly-colored tracers to what Bryce was shooting at.

It was grotesque: like the melding of a squid, a dragon, and a machine in a radioactive barbeque. The unofficial name that had stuck was "Reaver" which fit every portion of it. Atop if rode a Theron Guard who was doing his best to aim a torque bow.

There was a sharp crack from the level above them, yet nothing happened to the Reaver or its rider. The Theron fired his own shot at Clevinger's nest. A moment later there was blast. No more shots came from Clevinger's perch.

This did however give Bryce the chance to refocus his own firing from the Troika. Howe added his own fire to that attack, and what they assumed was the cranial-cavity of the Reaver was torn to pieces. With his mount killed, the Theron was sent on a plummeting ride down. The larger creature's body gave into gravity and slid down the side of the pumping station.

Howe noticed two large hands holding on to the edge of the rampart in desperation. He edged his way to the rail with his gun aimed down. It was difficult to get a good view of the Locust's head. It had such great cover considering its situation. He could've just blasted away its fingers. In his mind he could see the fingers being shredded. Bones fragmenting. Blood and tissue coating and freezing to the rail like a disgusting jam. It would be satisfying to his want for Locust blood, but Howe felt that somehow karma would strike him down next time he hung from a rail. So he couldn't do it.

He edged closer. The Theron's fingers were not moving. _Did it die?_ Had it caught a few of the rounds that annihilated its mount? Howe kept moving forward. He heard fire from all the other positions. How many Reavers were there?

One of the locust's hands slipped away. He was falling. _You could just let him_ _fall and be done with it. This whole thing you're doing is so stupid_. He leaned over. The locust fired, and a bolt surged past Howe's ear nearly ripping it off. _That's what you get_. He revved his chainsaw bayonet, and sawed the hand that was holding on. The locust growled in defiance, and then fell to the cold ground far below.

Bryce swiveled his gun, and began firing over Howe's head, "Get back to cover, sir."

Howe scurried away from the rail and took shelter behind the Troika battery. There were more Reavers and more fire coming in. Below them, the Grubs had dug into the snow, and were pouring bullets up at them. A high-powered round almost smoked Howe. There were snipers below.

He figured what they would want to do. With two levels of attack, the Locusts could keep the Troika batteries busy just enough for some grubs to get in through the door. A grenadier or a Boomer was bound to be in the group that hit the door.

"Keep up the fire," he told Bryce, 'I'm going to check down below."

"What about Clevinger?"

There had still been no fire from the perch. A lucky shot from a Theron… "Give it a minute. I'll try to get up there in a bit, but they're going to hit the front door." _Where is Gaines?_

XXX

Howe quickly made his way down the metal stairs trying not to trip over his over-sized boots. His ears rung from the screech of the Troikas. Despite that he could feel the noise from outside. This wasn't just a probe or a raid. It was difficult to guess what Blair had done, and this incident could've possibly been planned from the beginning. However, there was a relation: without Team Howard, mounting a defense would be difficult.

He put out an intercom call for Al to join him at the front door. With any luck they'd be able to hold the locusts outside. He put another call out to Gaines to call in air-support. If the COG wanted their bomb, they were going to have to earn it.

At the ground level Howe ran into Al. The Stranded leader had a Hammerburst rifle and his trusty Gnasher slung over his shoulder. The metal walls surrounding them reminded Howe of a stomach. One that would gladly digest Gear and Stranded alike.

Al asked, "How bad is it outside?"

"Bad enough. They're going to try and push us back with heavy fire, and then break down the door."

"The other team?"

Howe shook his head, "We'll probably never know."

"Then I suppose it comes down to who wants it more."

Howe was glad to have Al there with him.

Gaines got on the comm., "Status, Lieutenant?"

"Heavy fire outside. Probable siege on the front door. Tell me about the Ravens."

"No word yet. There seems to be a major attack on the east side of the plateau."

They heard a muffled explosion through the door. Some unfortunate Locust had tripped one of their grenade traps. He could only hope that major damage was done to their assaulting force. Though hope was cheap.

The facility shook. Grub holes. _They can dig the foundation out._

"Bryce," he said into the com, "Drop a grenade off the roof." He looked at Al and the Stranded guard he'd posted earlier. "Aim for the chest, and duck back in when your clips are out. No commando bullshit."

Bryce's grenade went off. Howe opened the door, and immediately fired on two locusts who were recovering from the blast. Al finished them off while Howe aimed further away at some others locusts who were carrying something big. He couldn't believe what it was, as he hadn't seen one in years. After a full magazine from his Lancer left a jittery bloody work of the grubs, Howe lobbed his own grenade at what they'd been moving. Hopefully it would be damaged.

Howe scuttled back to the door, dodging fire. Al and the other man were already inside. Roy, as Howe learned was his name, had been hit by fragments. His arm was basted in thick blood.

"Get yourself to medical," Howe said, "One of Mika's people has training. I'll order him there." He reloaded, and then blind-fired wildly out the door. He tossed another grenade in the direction of the suspect item.

"What was that thing they had?"

Howe closed the door, and triggered the pressure locks. They sealed resoundingly, "I think it was an old anti-tank mortar."

"Anti-tank?"

"I know. If only I could've grabbed it. Hopefully it's damaged."

"Can they break in here with that?"

He didn't want to say. He needed another view from above.

XXX

Back upstairs the firing continued. There were more Reavers and even Nemacysts that began launching their gooey mortars against the facility. The few peeks that Howe stole from behind his cover were frantic jumbles of smoke, flesh, fire, and motion. Bryce had dropped more grenades onto the grubs mobilized below. Howe remote triggered a mine in the snow, and a storm of metal balls dispersed over the area knocking down locusts that were trying to get in.

Another group of grubs had been trying to set up their own Troika to cover their fellows as they ran for positions near the facility. Howe had dug in behind Bryce's gun, and provided cover to the younger man as he put fire on everything he could see. He barely heard the metal groan of the door behind him, and turned to see Dr. Mika. The scientist was covered in sweat—he was swimming in it. He handed Howe what looked like a capsule the size of a thrashball.

"This should act as an imulsion-powered grenade. We'll try to get more to you as the day wears on." He showed Howe a bolt that stuck out the end of it, "This acts like a screw and plunger." In a mechanism like that the operator had to unscrew the primer to arm the bomb, and then plunge it into the blasting cap to light the fuse. They were not as practical as regulation fragmentation grenades.

"What the radius?"

"Well…I'm not sure. We've never tested it."

_Well, why not?_ Howe got on the comm., "Fire in the hole!" He activated the grenade, and hurled it off the roof, and into the yard below. There was a bright flash, and the yard erupted into flames. He heard the cries of several burning locusts, and the cheers of his own gunners.

Mika was absolutely appalled that Howe had used it. Throwing it blindly could've killed all of them.

"Get me some more of those," said Howe, "We're going to need a lot more."

Mika retreated back inside. There was the crack of a Longshot from above. Down in the yard, a burning grub collapsed after losing half of its head.

"I was wondering if you were dead," said Howe.

"Sure," said Clevinger through a few coughs over the radio, "Just leave me up here. How long was I out?"

"Too long. Listen, they're trying to set up heavy weapons: Troikas and mortars."

"Impressive." He coughed some more. It worried Howe, but there was no time for it.

"Don't worry," said Clevinger, "I'll give 'em something fun. Nice little bomb by the way."

"Thanks."

XXX

Howe made his way back to the control center. Their resources of ammunition and personnel would soon be spent. Howard Team was vanished and Dillion was dead. Even the Stranded had taken hits. They needed Ravens to come in. That was the only way. If Hoffman wanted his bomb, he was going to have to come and get it.

When he got to the main control hub Howe saw that it was a spastic storm of technological activity. Digital screens had multiple views of the combat outside. Holographic projectors had images of the mountain range where Team Howard had gone. A ginormous column of smoke poured out of the range like a beacon to faraway, uncaring gods. That place was so remote though. If it was the resting place of Howard it was a worthy monument.

Gaines was there studying the combat footage. The tech team was packing up essential materials into cases. Howe imagined that every bit of data regarding the bomb would be coming with them_. But what about the bomb itself_? How would they move it?

"What did the locusts have?" asked Gaines.

"Mortar."

"Bigger than anything we got, and possibly for a Raven to match too.'

He didn't feel like reminding the Colonel of everything else that was flying through the air. "Where are the Ravens?"

Gaines stared at the screens for a moment. Like he could change them with his mind.

"Sir?"

"The forward firebase is lost. Corpsers. Any Ravens that weren't destroyed on the ground fled back to Jacinto."

"Your techies are packing. Where do they think they're going?"

Gaines hit a button, and the screen changed to show Howe a low cloud of vapor forming above the snowy ground. It was an odd sight, like weather on a micro-scale. Clouds made by steel and heat. The old train tracks defrosting—this time completely.

"You've got to be kidding me?"

"Mika's got the train to viable status. We've got plenty of fuel."

"What about the pipeline?"

"We turned it on and locked the controls. It'll last for awhile at least."

Things were turning way too fast. "Then what?"

"Then it's out. We don't know why the locusts held this place. This war started once we got deep into imulsion pumping. I'd say it's related."

"Resources."

"Call it what you will. We may never know truly. Victor's the one always pondering that one and he's not here. Anyway Howe, this is the part where I give you the bad news."

One of the videos showed a Troika running out of ammo. The Stranded manning it made a mad dash to get back inside. Howe really hoped that he made it. Luck could be in short supply these days. He could imagine the desperation. Perhaps the Stranded's belief that he'd been given a gun without enough ammo, and was left there to die. When you worked for the COG that was called a "hazard of duty", as a Stranded civilian it was called "being fucked".

"The priority," said Gaines, "Is to get the Lightmass bomb back to base. That will happen. Mika and his tech team will also go back."

"And you?"

"We will forge a shield for them the whole way. Get the bomb on the train, get the team on the train, get the train started, and then we get on the train. Sound good?"

"_We_, sir?"

"That's right. You don't get to tell people that your CO made you do all the work today."

This was going to be fun.


	7. No place for man

Chapter 7: No Place for man

He remember being in the Youth Guard much better than his time as a Gear. He knew the job and served the best he could. If you did that, and survived long enough, you got promoted. It made it easier when the person just above you got killed. There was a guilt associated with such advancement, but he was told by the higher-ups to accept it as the way of war.

"You were in the Youth Guard," they said. "And now you're a full Gear. The backbone of the COG. This is your life. It makes you happy. Just keep with it."

He wasn't the kind of man to make a glorious stand against Command like that guy Marcus Fenix. Howe had been sympathetic to Fenix considering the circumstances, and everyone admitted that the man was an amazing solider. But things went bad. That was life.

Alhazred had proven to be a tenuous place. It provided shelter from the cold, but not from the Locusts. Nothing saved people from them. Sera was overrun. Humanity was on its way out.

Howe grabbed up every bit of ammo that he could carry. Everyone they had left was doing the same. Colonel Gaines wanted to move out as soon as possible. The Lightmass bomb had been separated into large pieces. Apparently even more would be added to it in Jacinto. Mika's team and some of Al's Stranded loaded into onto the old train. According to Gaines they would be met by Ravens halfway to provide an escort. "Hopefully," Gaines added. The loss of the forward fire base was major, but Hoffman really wanted the bomb. Either need or hardship was going to have to win.

Clevinger radioed in: "You guys really need to get going."

"They're working on it. What about you?"

"It's not good…"

"Let me get a med-kit to you. Mika's people—"

"—don't worry about that. It's coming. You need to go."

"It?"

"It's speeding up."

Howe could feel it then: the pounding on the distant frozen ground. The tremors rose up beneath them. There would be no way of getting a train past it. Even Ravens didn't like to get close when a brumak was near. The rockets the creature carried were devastating.

Gaines appeared dressed in Gear armor and armed. "What's going on?"

"Brumak. We can't open the train tunnel. It'll never make it past him."

"Well we can't wait here for a clearer day. We're going to have to kill it."

Howe looked at the older man. Gaines had been more than a career officer. He was a lifer. Given the situation the COG was in, that was a common story. The man himself was only in his fifties, but in a world of war that was an old age.

"You serious?"

Gaines straightened the hat atop his balding head. "That's the job. Hope you're up to it."

XXX

"Clevinger?"

He waited a time for the response.

"Clevinger?" _Don't die on me yet._

"Yeah, bossman. Still here."

_Thank you. _"Where is it?"

"It's almost in range. Groups of Locusts are following some ways off behind it. They're probably gonna wait for the rockets to hit, and then they'll be inside."

Gaines and Howe stood at the door. Howe considered the options. There were basically none. The Lancer felt heavy then. He shook himself off from the doubt. All of the other people inside were counting on them. Some of them had no idea what it was. They felt the earth shake, and they knew it couldn't be good. Bill wondered if he would prefer it that way too. He remembered seeing how people on Jacinto reacted whenever it was attacked. They would create any number of horrors in their imaginations, and conjoin them with collections of ridiculous hopes.

_That might be their right._

"We're going to have to run," he told Gaines. "You on the left and me on the right. Keep him busy. Sometimes they have a Theron or Grenadier driving them. Take him out. We need it to lose focus."

"I'll try to hit him from here," said Clevinger. "I still have…" he coughed. "The…boomshot."

"Alright," said Gaines. "Let's do some damage."

Howe opened the door, and they ran out into the cold.

XXX

Howe tried to control his breathing as he pumped his legs to run across the tundra. The brumak unleashed its primal scream and with it a torrent of rockets. These rammed into the ground launching dirt and melted snow into the air. Steam was rising into the chilly wind. Howe wasn't sure how long they'd been playing this game. The smaller locusts had fallen back to let their "tank" drive the way through. This hesitation may have been uncertainty. The Grubs had no way of knowing how many Gears were still inside the station.

The lumbering creature was rocked suddenly. It howled in pain, and the noise threatened to crack Howe's skull. Apparently Clevinger had gotten lucky with the boomshot.

For his part, Gaines had done fairly well. The older man couldn't run as fast as Howe, but having someone else to share the beast's attention was nice. Howe and Gaines used the opportunity to pour bullets all over the creature and its equipment. It was grueling work, but damage was being done. Howe lobbed a grenade near the creature's foot. The metallic crack resulted from his angered the brumak greatly. It launched more and more rockets. Howe fled. He hadn't seen a rider on this one, but he hadn't taken the chance to look all that well. Standard COG field manual guidelines told Gears to avoid brumaks entirely unless they had heavy weapon support. The Hammer of Dawn was…

As he worked his way to another run, he radioed Gaines: "Do you have the Hammer?"

"Yeah, but we don't have good visibility. We're not supposed to use it like that."

The brumak was slowly turning itself back around to Alhazred despite the attempts to lure it away. Whatever chaos was at work it its mind still had some room to follow the will of the Horde. It knew it had to break the facility. Somewhere there was a greater will that itself. Pain and fear were excellent motivations.

"Do it," said Howe. "We need everything we can bring down."

Howe stepped up his antagonism of the beast while Gaines found a safer location behind some of the metal rubble leftover from the downed ravens. He'd cut off his thumb for a fully armed Raven.

Another rocket blast came from the high reaches of Alhazred. Clevinger was still alive—still a delivery man of long range death. _Stay with us. We can still do this._

The rocket clipped the brumak's arm causing a spray of blood to fall upon the dirty snow. Its arm was still intact, but Howe was still glad to see the monster so injured. There was so much noise that he hadn't even heard the rocket as it flew near. He felt the heat, and saw the bright light of its motor. The explosion was felt against the inside of his chest.

They'd been grinding away at the brumak's weapons platforms. The brumak itself was something of an overgrown, abused primate made of elephant skin that was resistant to most bullets. COG scientists had been hoping to capture one for years. Howe thought of Dillion and his want to study Locust blood. It was an unusual benefit to meeting the Locust he supposed. Humans had an odd need to find and examine new life forms.

In the smoke and steam Howe couldn't see Gaines, but he could hear the man swearing. It wasn't uncommon amongst soldiers. They approached the death game with all the rage and hatred of a bitter teenaged boy. The use of foul language worked like prayers against the dangers they were asked to confront.

"Run, Howe! It's coming down!"

Howe dropped another grenade, and ran for the shelter of one of the rundown utility sheds.

From the cold gray sky came a beam of pure golden light as though the sun was impregnating the planet below. Gaines was holding on the trigger for as long as he could. Howe stole a peak as the Colonel's handiwork, and saw that the beam hadn't connected with the brumak directly, but was close enough to give a severe roasting.

The reaction from the creature was one of pure pain. It almost looked to be dancing within its own halo of bright glowing agony. As the beam subsided, the brumak moved faster with more urgency. The Hammer was the best weapon the Cog could muster at any given time. It wasn't enough.

Howe drew a large Boltok pistol, and began squeezing off rounds. Each bullet was as big as a man's thumb. He figured it was worth a try. A few of the bullets seemed to be penetrating the thick flesh. It was still a minimalist's attempt at death, but he had to busy himself with something. Then he noticed the dark smoke coming from the rocket platforms. Howe believed that they would explode, and sought cover. Rather than suffer spectacular failures, the rockets just fizzled, and broke off the creature.

They'd done it.

He continued his barrage with the Boltok. From his own position, Gaines opened up with his rife. Another rocket came out from Clevinger. The beast staggered, and turned away from Alhazred. It fled into the snowy distance. Howe called a ceasefire, though it took a while for Gaines to stop shooting. It was over.

Gaines came over to where Howe was standing. Both men were breathing heavily even though the air was choked with smoke.

"That was amazing," said the Colonel. "It's been awhile since I've seen action like that."

Howe couldn't help but smile and shook his head. "Almost hard to believe that you're a colonel sometimes. But, I'm glad you were out here. I'm not sure if Blair would've been up to this."

"What do you think happened to them?"

"It can't be a coincidence that Team Howard hit them, and then we get all of this. The only question is how much damage did Howard really do to them?"

Gaines sighed. "We need to get back. Mika and his people should be on the train by now."

Howe nodded. At some point he needed to get away from all of this. There had to be some place that was quiet without all of the tension, smoke, and death. Years ago he'd spoken to Sarah about ditching the unending war they lived through. She reminded him that there was no escape. Their wholes lives had been lived during one war or another. It was unavoidable.

Something whizzed by his head. He fell to the ground out of instinct, and called for Gaines to do the same. Gaines' legs shook. Howe looked up to see the Colonel clutching his throat. Blood began coating the metallic blue armor.

Howe stood up and grabbed Gaines' arms. "Let me see it. Let me see it!"

Gaines kicked Howe away. Howe didn't understand this until the torque bow bolt promptly exploded in a rupture of smoke and thick gore. The Colonel's headless body collapsed to the dirty snow field.

Howe heard the charging of the bow. He dove to avoid another bolt, and came to a crouch, from which he emptied the entire cylinder of the Boltok. The Theron Guard fell down in a bloody mess, but the other locusts were coming in.

Howe ran. He threw one last grenade over his shoulder, and put everything he had into getting back to Alhazred. He couldn't stand to take one last look at Gaines. He told himself that the older soldier would understand.


	8. Hard Way Home

Chapter 8: Hard Way Home

Bullets chased him as he ran. The locusts must've still been nervous after seeing the Hammer of Dawn in action. Howe admitted that he would be nervous himself after seeing a few men make a brumak turn away. A stream of fire came down from one of the troikas mounted atop Alhazred. This was likely Bryce, who likely saw Gaines go down. Shots also rang out from Clevinger's position. The locusts held their ground, but kept firing as Howe made it back to the front door.

Once inside, he sealed it, and rigged a grenade to it. Not a perfect trap, but it would make the locusts even more nervous about storming the place. The facility shook with the digging of locust holes. He remembered the pipe they entered through. No matter what he did they would make it inside soon.

After a few moments, Al, Bryce, and one of Al's men, who reintroduced himself as George (Howe suspected he'd met him before, but forget his name) met him on the main stairwell.

"What's our status on the train?" Howe asked.

"Nearly ready," said Al. "We're loading people up right now."

"Get everyone on board with whatever you can now. Locusts have worked hard on recognizing the difference between officer and regular Gears. They'll know that Gaines was important, and storm the building right now because they'll suspect we're weak and they're right."  
"The pipeline?" asked Al.

Howe nodded. "Gaines said they locked the controls. "It's as good as we can do. You're not going to hold this place with just a few people. You've done what you could."

Al took a breath and the nodded in agreement. "Then we need to go. Lead the way."

"I can't," said Howe. "I need to get Clevinger."

"The sergeant didn't sound like he was good shape, sir."

"No one gets left behind."

"Okay," said Al. "Let's get him."

"No. You guys provide cover for the others and defend the train. Get it primed and open the doors."

"What about you?"

Howe pretended to be making some internal calculation, but in reality he was just picking a number. "Give me ten minutes, and then you go. Don't wait any longer, and if it gets too hot before that just go. The bomb and everyone else is more important. "

Bryce nodded.

George gave him a box of Boltok rounds.

Al looked at him, and then they went to prep the train.

X

He made his way up stairs. Clevinger's sniper perch was a curious nook one level below the platforms where the majority of the troikas were mounted. However, while it was easy to get from the main stair to the observational levels where the platforms were, Clevinger's spot could only be reached by a maintenance hatch in a storage room.

As he hefted himself up the stairs the burning began in his legs. It only now occurred to him how tired he was from the fight outside. Even the quiet days leading up to this point were spent on constant patrol and constantly worrying. Howe stopped. _Come on, you can do this._ _You're not an old man by any means._ Though living past thirty could be called something of an achievement by their standards.

He radioed to Clevinger. "You still up there, Clevinger? What do you have on your scope?"

There was no response for awhile. Howe began mounting the stairs again, and then he got the response.

"Did Gaines say anything at the end?"

"He didn't really have time, but he was pretty happy and excited about getting back into the suck."

"…that's good. You're going to have to get everyone out of here. They're heading to the front door. The brumak's gone, but they got plenty of grubs."

The facility rocked.

"Here come some more," said Clevinger. "Get on the train and go."

"I'm coming to pick you up. If you can start down do so."

He kept going; ignoring the burning of his legs. Each step became labored. While Mika's people fixed several parts of Alhazred, they weren't confident in the lift system. Apparently, over time the cold played hell with the lubrication on the drive mechanism for the elevators. Gaines believed it would be good for everyone to get a little extra workout. Howe tried to remember what the rotund Mika's response had been, but couldn't.

The warbling screeches began. He hadn't thought there'd be wretches. The diminutive locusts didn't seem like the kind to withstand such cold temperatures. _That's outside, dumbass,_ he thought to himself. _Inside it's going to be just how they like it._

As he got closer he began to hear the gunfire. It wasn't Clevinger's rifle. As much as he loved to use it, the Longshot would rarely be practical up close. These smaller blasts were from a good, old Snub Pistol. They were also desperately fast.

_Ah, Hell_. Clevinger had issues with wretches. During the wild time of his rural youth, Clevinger's people had taken to digging out underground hovels to hide in from the grubs and Kryll. His hometown had a whole network of tunnels that could probably rival the locusts' own tunnels. After a while the locusts took to sending in large groups of wretches to flush out the townspeople. Everyone human who survived E-Day spent those early years trying to come to terms with the new reality. The people in the cities or outlying suburbs at least received information and advice from the COG. People in the rural areas, even if they remained loyal to the COG were still unofficially Stranded.

There had only been a few times when Clevinger opened up. He never gave a whole lot of detail, but there were little recollections of children hiding in old refrigerators as the wretches came in. Of mothers desperately fighting off the small locusts with whatever junkyard weapon they could put together. Maybe all anyone needed to know was that Clevinger loved nothing more than to shoot locusts from far away. _Wretches up close though…_

"Hold on," Howe said over the radio.

X

When Howe spotted Clevinger he was desperately bashing at the wretches with his Snub Pistol. Two other wretches were trying to squeeze into the room where Clevinger had hobbled into. Howe tore them apart with a spray of bullets from his Lancer. Their bloody gray parts tumbled out of the door way like an accident at a chicken factory.

This attracted the attention of the wretch attacking Clevinger. It bounded its way towards Howe only to meet a welcoming chainsaw blade that severed its head and left shoulder. Howe scanned the area around. There was nothing else for the moment. The other locusts were probably searching the ground level rooms first. They may have been trying to open the others doors. He still had time.

Clevinger was on the floor with his back leaned against the wall. The sergeant's breathing was ragged, and despite his armor he was bleeding. Not all of it had come from the wretches. Howe noticed a small trail of blood leading outside to where the sniper perch had been. The blood may have attracted the wretches to him sooner.

"Told you not worry about me," said Clevinger. "I was doing just fine."

"Bullshit. You should've taken the help when I first mentioned it." Howe fumbled through the pouches of his armor. He wished he had foresight earlier. Eventually, he put together a few incomplete med-kit pieces, and kneeled down to work on Clevinger.

"I don't know, boss man. This might be more dangerous than the grubs."

"With Dillion gone this is all you're gonna get until the train."

When he inspected Clevinger's side, Howe began to worry. The Torque bolt hadn't hit him directly, but several fragments had struck Clevinger. He couldn't see them, which meant that they might've been inside. Trying to dig them out would only make it worse without the proper training and equipment. Howe applied blood-clotter and bandaged Clevinger the best he could. From the drug-kit in a slot above his left knee, Howe removed a pain killer, and stuck Clevinger a few times. He had ampoules, which were pain killers with a dose of speed in them. He'd wait on those for now.

"It's not perfect, but it should hold. Come on, we need to go."

From below Howe heard the sound of his grenade trap going off. They were going to be inside now. He threw Clevinger's arm over his shoulder, and began leading the sergeant away.

X

Howe did something totally unprofessional. He angled his arm awkwardly—elbow in and Boltok pistol out to the side when he fired. It wasn't planned and his balance was thrown off by Clevinger hanging onto his left shoulder. Surprisingly, it worked. The oversized pistol round careened off a steel wall fixture and ripped into the Locust drone's head. It collapsed to the floor as though its spine was removed.

The grub was just another obstacle on their way to the train station. Howe was fairly certain that he train was already gone, but he would only end up watching Clevinger bleed to death. After that what would he have to fight for?

"The rifle," said Clevinger. "Take his rifle."

"Like I need more shit to carry."

He stuck the Hammerburst rifle to the weapon holder on his back. More weight, but at least it was a reliable weapon.

"Humans," he heard in the distance.

"This shit just doesn't end."

He continued on, letting Clevinger lean on him. The sergeant/sniper was leaving a trail of blood. Howe wasn't very concerned about leaving a trail to be followed; the locusts would know where he was going. He worried about how long Clevinger would really last. Even if he just lost consciousness that would likely slow them to the point of being killed.

"I got some ampoules," Howe said. "You might need them."

"Well, if the drones don't kill me the drugs will. "Let's do it."

Howe injected him. He was going to give Clevinger another, but the sergeant told him to keep it for himself.

"Don't need them," Howe said.

"Suppose not. You've always had Sarah."

At any other time Howe would've been pissed at the comment, but all he did was nod.

"Why do you think they want this place?"

"Who cares? Do you feel better?"

"Yeah. Feel is the definite word."

"It's a start. Let's go."

They continued winding their way down to the lower levels. Every corner and every nook where places a locust could be: a wretch waiting to rip out their crotches or a drone with a rifle ready to drill bullets into their heads. Once, Alhazred had been the pinnacle of COG technological achievement. Now it was a decaying beast infested with locusts as thick as maggots.

Clevinger leaned his Longshot across Howe's shoulders and fired down the hall. Bill could feel the small explosion from inside the gun. A drone collapsed several yards away.

"Let me know next time," he said to the sniper.

"Wouldn't be as fun."

He fired again.

"Toss a grenade down there," said Clevinger. "Try to bounce it off the left wall down by the corner."

Howe set Clevinger down, and the sniper covered them both as he grabbed a grenade. With his eyes focused on what was hopefully a good spot, Howe swung the chain a few times, and then sent it away with a great heave. Unlike his previous throws on this mission this one was true. It struck the wall—bouncing off a column of electrical pipes and landed out of sight. An unseen locust warned others of a grenade but it only took a second for a great concussion to rock the area. A spray of blood and gray flesh told the rest of the story in grisly detail.

"Nice."

Then they heard the screeching. It was level electric monkeys trying to clear their throats. Several glass lights were smashed nearby as the owners of the strange gurgling made their way towards them. Howe almost wanted to laugh, but was too busy trying to find something to shoot at.

Clevinger made the first shot. A wretch fell dead from the ceiling. Its gurgling cut short. Howe spotted a gaggle of wretches closing in. He squeezed the trigger on his Lancer. A stream of lead rocked out of the gun, turning the barrel red and shredding the pint-sized locusts into mangled hash.

"We can't get bogged down in this shit. The train is waiting."

"It's probably gone already," said Clevinger. "But, why not?"

They kept going.

X

Bullets bounced off walls and tore into flesh. Smoke filled the air and was followed quickly by the smell of blood. Underneath it all like some distant proof of creation was the smell of imulsion: sour, earthy, and old.

_Goddamn_, thought Howe, _we're not even fighting for this shit anymore and it's still bleeding us out._

He waited with his back pressed against a wall. Howe didn't want to peek around the corner. He could hear the Locust Grenadier breathing. They'd gone further down into more narrow spaces. A grenade would have even more power in such an enclosed space.

Clevinger leaned against the wall beside him. For the sergeant it wasn't just a matter of hiding: he was bleeding out. The ampoules could do wonders for how a soldier felt, but they didn't really heal you. Howe had learned how to work all sorts of tricks with decent med-kits. The trouble was getting them. Real medics were even rarer. He thought about Dillion.

The grenadier was getting closer.

There were still good people out in the world. Dillion had been one of them.

He could smell the locust's breath.

_Sons of bitches._

The heavy-booted foot of the grenadier planted itself just passed the corner. Howe turned on the chainsaw-bayonet as he swung around the corner. He didn't bring it down in an arc as was typical, but instead rammed it into the grenadier's face. The teeth of the saw blade caught a few times on the creature's skull, but in the end flesh and bone gave way to steel.

"You're just getting sick now, boss man," said Clevinger. "What would Gaines say?"

"'Thank you' would be my guess. Now come on. We're almost there."

X

The train was under siege. The station itself was oddly cavernous for something that was so enclosed. It was formed on a slope that led out of the station proper and then outside. Two massive doors stood at the top of the slope, and were sealed shut. Howe considered it very good news that there wasn't a brumak pounding on those doors right now. It was a small gain considering the loss of a COG Colonel. With Gaines dead Hoffman had even more authority. The Chairman should've probably just made his General and got it over with, but COG generals were half soldier and half politician. Hoffman would probably die before he acted like a politician. Gaines would've too.

The station's depth inside the facility and how well they'd previously sealed everything slowed the incoming locusts to a trickle from some blown out hole in a corner near a metal staircase, but those who slipped in found cover and put fire on the train.

Howe spotted Bryce moving from cover to cover on the open cargo cars used for large equipment or freight hauling. Al and his Stranded were defending one of the enclosed cars where the others were obviously hiding. They were not likely to hold out for long.

"Move in slowly," said Clevinger. "I'll cover you. When you're on the train, start it."

"Bullshit. We both go."

Clevinger shook his head. "You did good to get me here, but there's shrapnel in me and my legs are getting cold even though it's still warm in here." He pointed to a stack of cargo containers. "From up there I'll have a great view. Think about the tactical situation, Lieutenant. I'll take that Hammerburst you grabbed earlier."

Howe couldn't believe this was happening. "All these years for this moment, huh?" He gave Clevinger the rifle.

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Now give me a minute."

While Clevinger painfully made his way to his position, Howe checked his weapons. He was out of grenades and his ammo wasn't looking too good. Clevinger achieved his tactical position and signaled the go-ahead.

Howe ran forward as Clevinger took his first shot, and downed the nearest grub. Howe curb-stomped this unfortunate, and took his Hammerburst. He immediately put fire on the drones attacking the train, and took some of the pressure off of Bryce. Al and his people increased their firing and this let Howe get even closer.

He heard the breathy whispers of Therons. The locusts must've known how important the train was. Even after taking a beating outside they were still committed.

"Stay in cover."

Clevinger came on over the radio: "Howe, the torque bows can really damage the train."

"Then we need to take them out. Do you still have the boomshot?"

"One more round."

He sighed. "Alright, then you'll know when it'll count the most."

Howe heard the Theron powering up. The bolt struck one of the containers near Bryce. The young man cried out in pain, and hunched down on the ground.

The Theron was at least fifty feet from Howe. It would already be reloading the bow. Howe surged forward, trying to stay low. Halfway there he began firing the Hammerburst. The semi-auto assault rifle had a stronger kick than the Lancer, but each round was more powerful. They chewed into the Theron's armor; drawing some blood, but not slowing him down. A Longshot round from Clevinger struck its shoulder, and the torque bow sagged as the creature reacted to this.

Howe closed the distance, and put several rounds into the Theron's knees. It collapsed onto these destroyed joints, and Howe bashed it with the rifle. He scooped up the Torque Bow, and made his way over to Bryce. The younger man was bleeding from shrapnel. Fortunately, these fragments were still partially stuck in his armor, and hadn't penetrated too deeply. Howe helped Bryce up, and stuck him with an ampoule.

"You'll be okay, now keep fighting."

He left Bryce to keep up the pressure on the locusts, and made his way over to where Al and the others were defending the passenger car. Al was taking shots at locusts with a Snub Pistol. The shotgun was ready, but so far the locusts were staying back. To Al's side, George was taking shots with a Hammerburst. He wasn't the best shot by far, but any help was good help.

"Why didn't you guys leave yet?" Howe asked.

"Talk to Mika's people. Honestly though, it can't be good. We helped them prep the train, and it might actually run, but if it's gettin' this bad on the inside—think about the outside."

"Well worry about that when we're out there." He pointed to the doors. "How do we open those?"

"The old train set-up had two options: an engineer or a computer from the train could open it remotely or the station administrator could do it."

"And?"

"Mika's people said they're working on the train's controls," said George, "but it's old and hasn't been maintained."

"Then we'll do the station one. Where is it?"

Al pointed to the metal stair near where the locusts were coming in.

"Figures. Will it work?"

"I hope. We built 'em to last back then, but these days…"

"Yeah. Alright, then."

He noticed two different objects covered in tarps. One at the front of the train and the other mounted on the rear car.

"What're those?"

Al thought for a moment. "This was a military facility with a civil government façade. They began putting chain-guns on the trains back during the Pendulum Wars."

"Do they work?"

"Who knows?"

"Find out, and if not then fix them. We have to make it at least half way if Gaines was right."

George rolled his eyes.

"Ridiculous," said Al.

"Yeah, and we're going to do it."

X

Clevinger radioed in: "We are you off the train, bossman?"

"The train situation is a work in progress. We need to open the doors."

"I see you pickin' your way to where the grubs are coming in. Are you crazy?"

"You should know the answer to that by now. Question really is: what are you gonna do?"

Clevinger clicked his tongue. No doubt he was licking the tips of his moustache as well. "The things you make me do, Bill. You better hurry up, because I'm getting a little faint over here. How are we doin' this?"

"Straight in—hard."

"Not very gentlemanly of you. I've already spotted my first mark" He fired. "Got him."

Howe lurched forward into a sprint. The Torque Bow was heavy in his arms. He came across a crouched locust, and clipped him across the chin with the bow. He began charging the weapon, and sent a bolt into the next locust, who promptly had his upper half removed from his legs. Howe switched to his Gnasher. He walked and fired creating a staccato rhythm to his progress. The occasional crack shot from Clevinger helped, and Bryce added his own shots into the mix of sound and death.

Howe's path took up to the staircase. Bullets bounced off the safety rails; leaving the occasional knick in his armor. Up near the top he found a convenient rise in the concrete wall that had collapsed to shelter his back. Bill didn't quite have time to consider the irony that the destruction of human civilization would leave so many places to hide behind, but it crossed his mind.

More important was the small office at the top. It had large safety glass windows surrounding it for a panoramic view of the station as a whole. The door was locked, but a couple of shotgun blasts and a good kick solved that problem. For what it was worth, he closed the door behind him.

Some of the lights on the consoles were on. Mika and his people had restored several of Alhazred's systems. It was a Spartan office. A cheap metal desk still had a dust-caked calendar laid out on it. There were two different steel file holders with yellowed, decrepit papers in them. A dusty coffee mug said "World's Best Grandpa".

Curiosity led him to opening one of the drawers of the desk. There wasn't too much to be found: some office stationary, a few old pens, an appointment book, and other refuse that finds its way into desks. More interesting was an old data card. He scooped it up, and put into the data-pad compartment in his armor. He figured that maybe Command would be interested in it later on.

"Pick up the pace, boss man," said Clevinger. "I got scope on you, but we don't have time to bullshit."

"I'm on it."

One of the consoles looked a little more important than the others. It had several levers and buttons on it. He decided to pull a lever. A powerful hiss of pneumatics filled the entire station; the hum of machinery powering up played the rhythm to this sound.

He got on the radio. "Did that work?"

Bryce responded, "No, sir. A bunch of the other machines are on though."

"Great. Al should've come up here."

"I'll get him on the radio, sir."

"Never mind, I'll just—"

"Listen here, Howe." It was Al. "You turned on the pumps for filling the old Imulsion cars. I don't need you just hitting random buttons in there. Look for a switch that turns like a key."

He found it. "Okay."

"Turn it."

"Now what?"

A loud warning alarm sounded. This better be good, he thought.

"Bill," said Clevinger, "They're making a push for you."

"Try to hold them back."

Al got back on, "Alright, it's powering up. There might be a lever next to that switch with a light on it. If it turns green pull it."

"There's no green light. There's—"

The door burst open behind him. Two locust drones stormed in with their guns taking aim. Howe kicked down the metal desk. The "World's Greatest Grandpa" hit the ground and shattered. He threw himself behind the table with bullets racketing off the consoles.

His first shotgun blast ended the head of one locust, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid the head-bashing he took from the other's rifle butt. Howe heard one last sharp crack, which he was sure was his skull, and then everything was black.

X

His own coughing opened his eyes. He was moving forward, but couldn't feel his legs moving. Smoke was everywhere. The concrete floors were marinated in blood and sprinkled with bullets casings. His arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets.

Bill looked to see the face of a dark-skinned man in rough clothes, holding up his right arm on his shoulder. He thought he caught the man mouthing "You're gonna be alright", but couldn't really tell.

Howe noticed that several chewed up locusts parts were everywhere. The walls were also shredded. Pieces of concrete and plaster littered the floor adding some fiber to the lovely flush mulch.

"What happened here?" he asked.

His hearing was coming back enough for him to Al say: "…got that chain-gun up and going. That made 'em pull back, but you really own your friend there."

"Who?"

He looked under his left arm. Clevinger, a man who should've been dead by now, was helping carry him to the train.

"That crack wasn't my skull then."

"Not fully. Your head's too hard," said the sniper. "I did have to use my last rifle round though, so you better appreciate it."

He tried to nod, but pain seized him.

"Easy, Bill. We need to get you on the train, and then you're lying down."

"Okay, mom."

As they helped him to the train, Howe caught sight of the light coming from the outside. With the light came the severity of the cold wind. The tracks led north to safety. Yet, that was a long and cold road ahead for them.


End file.
